


" display of such horrifying butchery and macabre"

by EdwardNotSoLittle



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, terror bingo, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23114107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdwardNotSoLittle/pseuds/EdwardNotSoLittle
Summary: Sequel to MistakesAn extended scene/what if/ survival short. What if Francis wasn't too late to save Edward?Terror Bingo:Eternal Chill
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	" display of such horrifying butchery and macabre"

**Author's Note:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING!!!!**
> 
> **GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD AND CANNIBALISM!!!**

As the last camp came into view Francis felt his heart drop into his stomach and his stride staggered a couple steps beside Lady Silence. 

Something out of a nightmare, a horrifying terror in the form of a display of both havoc and butchery… the product of unfathomable macabre caused by the madness of desperate men.

Horrible, all of it. 

Right away he could see the bones with flecks of red and old flesh upon them in a pot that he could tell once had water within but had long since evaporated. Bones that were both far too long and also too small, to be of that of any animal they had ever caught hold of here, namely any white bears.

Scanning the remnants of another snuffed fire he felt bile rise up in his throat as he caught eye of a second pot, or that is to say, the contents within it. It was a dismembered leg of a sailor whose identity he prayed would remain a mystery. 

The leg in question, was still clad in the tattered remains of a dark trouser leg from where it had been severed just at the lower section of the thigh, some of the scraps of fabric moved in tempo with the wind that had at one point beat the canvas of the tents mercilessly. He noticed that the sailor’s boot was still attached to his foot, but the back of the leather and dark fabric up the back of the lower leg had been sliced clean open up the back in order for meat from the calf. Blood littered the shale from where the severed limb had dripped and soaked into the rocks and the Earth. 

_ ‘Oh Christ…’  _ he thought to himself, freezing in his tracks as his mind tried to comprehend what was before his eyes and took in its entirety

Beside the pots and long-cooled fires, discarded in a mess, blood covered utensils and cracked plates and discarded pans. Several gold pocket watches lay amongst them… their gold surfaces could hardly be seen anymore with the amount of blood that coated their metal surfaces in blood now old and dried to a dark brown. 

Their chains were missing?

Swallowing thickly he continued further with the remains of the makeshift sanctuary passing some wooden crates, some toppled over, a few smashed to splinters leaving jagged pieces of timber scattered about the grey stone, some were upright with chips in them, there were a couple that had the smears of a few bloody handprints. 

There was no movement besides those caused by the wind, the rustling of fluttering, blood-stained pages from the dozens of books (mostly bibles) discarded across the craggy rocks, and the flapping of canvas from the few wind beaten, tattered tents that still stood. 

No noise. 

Dreading what he was to find inside the tents themselves, he slowly took a couple steps, then another, and one more, forcing himself to continue.

Within the first tent he found the bodies of Richard Aylmore, Charles Best, Samuel Crispe, and John Hammond. 

They’d all died, futility huddled together for warmth that had clearly not been enough by the look of it. Some of the lads’ skin was a blue, others a grey indicating they’d been dead longer. Yet the one thing that they all shared in appearance was the fact that they had likely frozen… starved… or… or God knows what else.

He felt his heart swell painfully in his chest at the sight, his eyes burned with tears at the idea that the men he had promised to bring home, all of them, had died so horribly. 

It was enough to cause the need to look away to take a breath and he did just that deciding to continue his search for survivors… no matter how futile.

He moved on to the next tent, having to duck under a flap of canvas that was partially torn off. There were three men here, one of them tucked into a bedroll and bundled up, looking so strangely peaceful was Erebus’ boy George Chambers, beside him was one of the ABs, William Wentzell. 

Both gone.

As he cast his focus to the third man however, he knitted his brows.

He was propped up against the side of the tent and to his relief he could see… or more, could hear him breathing as every puff of his chest caused a sickening rattle to be heard. 

Crouching before the sailor he felt his heart clench painfully as he recognized the sailor… but only barely.

It was his first lieutenant, Edward Little.

Or he thought it was… and his eyes stung with tears that quickly filled his eyes and trickled down his cheeks.

The man’s greatcoat clung loosely around him, now too big for his sunken and starved body. He now sported a full bushy beard and his dark brown almost black hair reached down to the top of the collar as it wisped in the wind, both glittered with frost and clear evidence of the frigid cold.

Quickly he knelt in front of him, reaching out to wrap the arm with his stump behind his shoulders so he could sit him up further while he placed his remaining hand against long unkempt hair. 

His face was a deathly pale that bordered on gray with the slight hint of blue… but that wasn’t the worst part of it.

No the worst part was the fact that he’d found the missing chains to the pocket watches he’d seen earlier.

The chains were there, on- no in- his face, the golden tendrils stabbed through sections of flesh beneath his eyes at the top of his cheeks, two in each nostril and another pair stabbed into each side of his bottom lip… they weaved about embroided into the collar of his great coat as they dangled off his frozen features. 

“Edward?” he called softly giving him a gentle shake. 

The man’s long lashes were coated in frost, but they slowly blinked open and the slightest bits of the perspiration fluttered down into his lap, glittering as they caught the dusky sunlight. 

Even as his eyes scanned him, it took a moment for the younger man's mind to register what was before him. 

The poor lad, his lips moved but the only sound to be produced was a raspy drawl of his unused vocal chords. 

Quick to his wits, Francis looked over at Lady Silence, **_“Imiq."_ **he said, reaching his hand out towards her.

Lady Silence reached into her parka to produce the small leather pouch she carried water in, stepping forward and placing it in his hand. 

He placed the rim of it to the frozen man's lips tilting his chin up slightly with a nudge from his fur wrapped stump. 

The poor lad drank, he drank and he drank until he began to cough and let out a groan. 

Crozier turned again, looking at Lady Silence with a sense of desperation as he handed her the water. Even if it was futile, he asked her to gather some blankets, as many as she could and start a fire.

Of course the woman said nothing, but she did wander off so he assumed she understood.

When he turned his attention back to his lieutenant he watched how his brown eyes blinked deliriously but after a few moments of staring, Crozier could see the telltale sign of tears as they began to sparkle in the man’s eyes.

Quietly, Francis settled down next to him, he wrapped an arm around his frail shoulders and hushed him quietly. 

“C-Captain…?” 

“Aye, it is. Edward, at ease son. I’ve got you.” 

The younger man let out a rattling cough that was immediately followed by a groan. “You’re… you made it…?”

Offering the suffering man a weak smile he nodded before showing him his missing hand, “Yes, but not all in one piece, I’m afraid.” 

Edward didn’t react to the light attempt of levity, his eyes looked sad as a couple tears dripped from his eyes, catching in the dangling chains before falling into his lap.

“I’m... I’m… the... w-worst kind of s-sorry... sir, t-they… the men... w-wouldn’t follow me b-back... to… to you...” the younger man rasped, leaning his weary head on his shoulder as they both watched Lady Silence make her way back towards the tent.

Francis’ heart swelled painfully for the man, a man so clearly riddled with guilt and self-loathing, a man at his lowest.

“That’s okay, son. I know you would have done everything you could, for now though it’s my turn to help you.” he said, giving his shoulder a reassuring, confident squeeze. 

Captain Crozier felt a surge of determination fill him as he looked at his first lieutenant, he would save him. 

With a grunt and the creaking of his own bones he pulled away from the younger man, moving to a crouch to assist the man up with a sturdy hand on the back of his shoulders. 

He’d be damn fucked if he failed to save at least one man out of the entire expedition. 

They would both survive. He swore to it.


End file.
